The Chase: A Novel (53 page)

“I killed him, Claire. We had lost the war, and he knew too much, and it was time to get rid of him.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “You see, he reported to me. I was his superior, my dear. In a way, we were a team.”

Claire sagged against the wall. “Oh my God.”

“God will not help you now,” Elizabeth said flatly.

Claire stiffened instantly. This woman was a killer—maybe she had killed everyone—Jean-Léon was innocent—and she, Claire, was in grave danger. Instantly, Claire decided to play for time.

“I don’t understand,” she said breathlessly. “How could this be? You’re a woman. I mean, I just don’t understand. I’ve known you my entire life—you became a mother to me when my mother died.”

“There’s very little to understand, my dear,” Elizabeth said easily, “except that you and Marshall have both gotten far too close for comfort—which is what David and Suttill did as well—and like them, you must be removed.”

Claire blinked. She was sweating now, and perspiration trickled down her brow and into her eyes. It gathered between her breasts. It made her hands wet. Had this woman killed David and George Suttill?
How could this woman, whom she had loved and trusted her entire life, be a ruthless killer?
“You killed David?” Claire gasped.

“I most certainly did. It was the bloody worst luck, to be having lunch with him and to have George Suttill recognize me as Lionel’s old wartime girlfriend. I was Elizabeth Longford then, but no matter, Suttill knew. He recognized me. You see, when Lionel disappeared, the authorities tried to find me in order to question me. The world believed Lionel and me to be lovers. It was so convenient to be his girlfriend, as I could go to and from his little flat as I pleased. When Lionel ‘vanished,’ I, of course, had to disappear, too. I colored my hair and changed my name and the way I dressed, the tart becoming a princess, and the idiots never found me, when all along I was right under their noses.”

Claire could only stare. “So you began dating William. And four years later, he took you to France.”

“William was the perfect cover for me, which was why I married him so quickly. Of course, I lied about my age, to throw everyone off. I was eighteen in 1940—not fifteen.” She paused. “I have survived all of these years, Claire, by never allowing any link with the past to remain.”

“So since George Suttill recognized you as Lionel’s old flame, you killed him? And you killed David just because he was there at the restaurant and heard the exchange?” Claire could hardly believe what she was hearing, but then, she was faced with a ruthless sociopath, not the woman she had known her entire life. That woman had never existed; that woman had been an illusion.

“Yes and yes. But David also happened upon me while I was removing Suttill. Which made him a witness to murder, Claire. And as you know, I have no intention of spending even one day behind bars.”

Their gazes locked. Claire realized her time was running out. An image of Ian flashed in her mind—if only he would return to the apartment to try to speak with her. But after the way she had turned her back on him, Claire felt quite certain he was not about to come to the rescue now. She was on her own.

“You know, I am genuinely fond of you,” Elizabeth said, moving away from the window, toward the foot of the bed.

Claire went rigid.
Shit.
What should she do? “Was David stupid enough to be blackmailing you, too?” she asked, sidling to her left. She wanted to keep a distance between them—not that it mattered, as Elizabeth had the gun.

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. “No, he was not. I deposited the cash in his account to lead the authorities astray. In fact, I used the thumb knife to pin the murders on Elgin—a dead man. I knew Marshall would think David had uncovered Elgin and was blackmailing him. Brilliant, don’t you think?”

Claire hardly knew what to think. She nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from the other woman.

“Also your father had that Courbet, linking him to Elgin. I stole it at the end of the war because I needed the money; it was pure coincidence that he bought it from a fence in Paris a few years later.” She smiled. “I must admit, when we became friends, the first time I saw the Courbet I almost fainted.”

Claire remained speechless.

“Surely you have more questions, Claire. Surely you want to know about your lover’s uncle, his father?” She smiled serenely, as if enjoying herself.

“Why do you want to tell me?” Claire asked, sick with fear. There was a lamp on the bureau behind her. It was large. If she let Elizabeth get close enough, could she slam her with it and somehow not get shot? Or worse, killed?

It was a catch-22. To really hit Elizabeth with the lamp, she would have to let her come closer. But in doing so, the odds were greater that Elizabeth, who would clearly shoot to kill, would not miss.

“You won’t live to tell anyone about it. And neither will your lover,” Elizabeth said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Did you murder Eddy Marshall? And Rachel? And what about Harry Elgin and Lionel’s father?” Claire’s mouth seemed numb. It was hard to form the words. Was the lamp within reach? It was plugged in. She knew that from the other night. If she flung it at Elizabeth, would the cord prevent her from doing so effectively?
Damn
.

“My first victim was Lionel. I don’t enjoy killing, Claire. Lionel enjoyed the power of dispensing life or death. I feel only regret that after all of these years, I am now reduced to the status of a common killer. I am not a killer, Claire. Ideology motivated me during the war. I am a highly ideological person.”

“You’re a fascist.”

“Please, Claire. Don’t start with the Jews now. I am not really an anti-Semite. And in fact, you know my beliefs. I have been on the far right for years.”

Claire inched back another step. Unfortunately, groping behind her would be too obvious. Just how close to the lamp was she?

“Lionel murdered his brother when he was a boy, out of jealousy, I believe. But it was the right move, as he became the Elgin heir with all of the rights and power that entailed. Lord Elgin needed to be removed, as he was in our way—I gave Lionel permission to act on it. As for Eddy? He was in American intelligence, Claire. He uncovered Lionel. I could have been next. He had to be removed.”

The anger overcame Claire then, and its force was stunning. “And did you have to get rid of his wife, too? How ideological is that?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Why are you angry, Claire? You didn’t know Eddy, and you didn’t know Rachel. Lionel thought she knew too much. I agreed. She was a liability. She claimed Eddy had taken photographs—we had to silence her.”

Claire wet her lips. She had to make her move now. “Did he take photographs?”

“I have no idea,” Elizabeth said.

Claire stared. Elizabeth stared back.

“Move away from the bureau,” Elizabeth said.

“Okay,” Claire whispered, and the word came out as a high-pitched squeak. She did move—whirling and grabbing the lamp at the same time. As she flung it, the gun went off. Claire felt an unbelievable burning sensation in her chest, and the bullet’s impact hurled her backward against the bureau, and to the floor.

But Claire didn’t pause. Elizabeth cried out as the lamp hit her in the face and chest, causing her to stagger backward several steps. Claire managed to get up onto all fours. Elizabeth was lifting the gun. Claire leaped up and out through the door as another shot rang out.

Jesus.
Claire felt another burning in her back as she slammed the door closed behind her, about to race for the front door—which she had double-locked.

But Elizabeth would be able to mow her down in the hall outside or in the stairwell, if she tried to flee down that.

Claire looked around and grabbed the first item she saw that might be helpful as a weapon: one of the framed photographs from the bookcase in the living area. The frame was sterling silver. Claire shrank against the wall, by the corner, waiting for Elizabeth to come out of the bedroom. She held the photo high.

She promised herself that she would not miss—she would break the other woman’s skull in two.

But the bedroom door did not open.

Seconds passed.

Claire heard her own heavy breathing. She gulped down air. Sweat blurred her vision. Why wasn’t Elizabeth coming out? Had she been hurt by the blow from the lamp?

Claire inhaled, trembling. Her arm began to hurt her from holding the picture so high for so long.

An instinct made her turn.

Claire saw Elizabeth on the terrace outside, aiming the gun at her, the glass door between them. As the shot sounded, Claire dove around the corner of the wall to the other side.

She scrambled up against the wall, panting and shaking. This time, Elizabeth had missed. She heard the glass door sliding open. Now what?

She was so wet. Claire glanced down, and her eyes widened in shock. Half of her white T-shirt was crimson with her own blood.
Was she dying?

Right now it didn’t matter. What mattered was Elizabeth, in the adjacent living area, creeping closer—or to a better vantage point from which to gun Claire down.

Claire glanced behind her, at the damn double-locked door. Elizabeth would have a perfect shot if Claire dared to run to it.

She could go back in the bedroom.

Claire didn’t hesitate. She jumped up and grabbed the knob and tried to push open the door. It wouldn’t budge.
Elizabeth had locked it before she had used the window to climb outside onto the terrace
.

Claire looked down the hall to the master bedroom at its end.

She ran.

Inside, she closed and locked the door, but the lock was pitiful—undoubtedly anyone could open it with a hairpin. Claire didn’t hesitate. She ran to the bedstand and opened the drawer. She rummaged through papers and receipts. No gun.

She ran to the other bedstead, with the same result.

She froze as she heard the lock on the bedroom door clicking open. Then she dashed into the master bathroom, closing and locking that door. She needed a weapon and she needed it now.

An electric razor lay on the marble vanity with a can of shaving foam. So did a bar of soap, an electric toothbrush, and other toiletries. Then Claire saw the scissors.

They were small, but she grabbed them and ran back to the door, positioning herself flat against the wall, so that the door would hide her when it opened.

The lock clicked open.

Claire couldn’t breathe. Cotton filled her mouth. Sweat poured down her body in rivulets—or was it blood? Claire glanced down and saw the bright red drops on the marble floor.

The door began to open, inch by inch.

Claire lifted the tiny scissors.

“There is no way out, Claire,” Elizabeth said softly.

Claire turned her head, otherwise not moving. Through the crack in the door by its hinges, she saw the other woman’s form.

“I know you’re standing behind the door, Claire,” the other woman said.

Claire launched herself around the door with a scream of rage, slicing the scissors down. The gun went off again, but not before Claire felt the small blades tearing through flesh and muscle, not before she heard Elizabeth’s cry, and this time, Elizabeth missed.

Claire smiled at her father. Except Jean-Léon wasn’t really her father. He smiled back.

Claire lay in bed in a hospital room. She had been taken to Lenox Hill. Her father sat by her hip. He held her hand. “Thank God this is over,” he said, not for the first time.

The painkillers were beginning to fade. Her chest, above her left breast but below her collarbone, was beginning to really hurt. But at least she could think more clearly now. “It’s finally over,” she agreed. Elizabeth had been taken into custody.

“I am angry at you for ever becoming involved,” Jean-Léon said hoarsely.

Claire met his opaque gray eyes. It was so obvious now that he cared for her. She felt horrible for ever believing him to be Elgin, even for an instant. She should have held fast to her convictions.

She would never tell him the truth about her paternity. If he suspected, she had no clue. She would go along with the arrangement they had had their entire lives. “Dad? Can you ever forgive me for not trusting you? For trapping you?” Tears came to her eyes.

“Don’t worry about anything now, Claire. And of course I forgive you. I blame Marshall for everything.”

Her heart rate seemed to increase at the sound of his name.

“He brainwashed you, he went off half-cocked. I wasn’t lying when I said he’s reckless, a cowboy. It would have been neat and convenient for him if I was Elgin.” Jean-Léon was clearly angry.

Claire wondered just how neat and convenient it would have been. She didn’t want to recall Ian’s declaration now, but she did.
I love you.
Three such simple words—with so much damn power.

“Dad? How did you know so much about the investigation?” This had been bothering Claire.

He seemed surprised. “When Marshall first appeared in your life—royally upsetting it, I might add, I did what any father world do—I checked the guy out. And you know what? Men like Marshall, who lead complicated lives, never provide neat answers. There were so many questions from our preliminary investigation that I told my guys to go all the way. Which is how I found out about his hunt for Elgin and his father’s murder.”

Claire realized that she should have known.

“What is it?” Jean-Léon asked.

Claire sighed. “If you met the Dukes in the late fifties, why did they lie about it?”

Jean-Léon shrugged. “People like Elizabeth are liars, Claire.”

She winced. “How is William?”

“I don’t know. I imagine he is astonished. It will be some time before he will be able to comprehend all of this.”

“We need to be there for him,” Claire whispered.

His gaze met hers. “Yes, you do,” he said evenly.

Claire started. In that moment, she realized that he knew the truth—he knew that William was her biological father.

Awkwardly, Jean-Léon patted her hand. “I’ll call him if you like.”

“Please,” Claire managed, still stunned. “I’d like to see him.”